Oneshot: Hurricane
by MistressMaryD
Summary: Department Affairs universe. Sometimes Wesker apologizes. Their instability works for them. Explicit content. AU - Canon Divergence, OFC


Oneshot Hurricane

_"Wouldn't you like to come meet the wolves who'd love to show you exactly what it takes to play their game? But I must warn you that once they've taken to you; it'll take more than you've got to scare them away. Little lover, you're in trouble."_ - Blaqk Audio "Say Red"

"Al, I need some help." Her voice is strained but doesn't shake or quiver as she enters the lab, one hand affixed to her bleeding stomach. He taught her never to let her voice give her away. He smelled blood and gunpowder before she even entered the room. She usually wasn't this careless.

"Sit. What happened?" He asks, voice lacking any real concern or warmth. She takes a seat on a clear spot on the table and slowly removes her hand from her wound and even slower still, lifts the black under armor shirt. It's not a gunshot or stab wound. It's a bite. Just above her left hip. Puncture wounds from teeth pepper her skin in the rough shape of jaws.

His fingers slide over swollen, torn, bloody skin and she hisses through her teeth. It would've been a whimper had she not cut herself off. "You didn't tell me they were growing BOW's." She says; her voice accuses him of sending her there on purpose. His orange eyes flick up to her face, over his sunglasses and she sees a tiny frown pull at his lips. "I wasn't aware they were." He pours antiseptic on her wound, holding a gauze pad under it to catch the liquid.

"Bullshit." She snaps, groaning as the wounds sizzle and burn. "To what purpose would I send you there to die?" He inquires, rising out of his crouch and moving to a refrigerator he kept locked. "Easy way to be rid of me." She replies, ignoring the searing pain in her side and pushing out thoughts of infection and mutation. She had never been _this_ careless.

He comes back with a syringe filled with green liquid. He smirks as he holds out a hand for her arm. "If I really wanted to be rid of you, I'd go about it in a more direct manner." He tells her, gloved fingers wrapping around her elbow as he easily finds a vein and the needle pierces her skin. His eyes linger over her tattoo _'If I cannot bend Heaven, I shall move Hell'._ A Virgil quote, inked in Italian. A sarcastic nod to himself. His smirk grows.

She doesn't feel the needle. She was used to needles of a different kind.

She does feel the anti-virus as he presses down on the plunger. It's still cold but it burns like liquid fire. She doesn't make a sound. When the chamber is empty, he removes the needle and drops it into the trash under the table. He hands her another gauze pad and she holds it to the injection site; bending her arm to keep it in place and keep her arm out of the way of the bleeding bite.

Most of the wound was torn and ragged from when the dog bit down before she sent a bullet through it's eye. It needed stitches.

She sits still and quiet as he carefully sews her skin back together. It hurts like hell but she won't give him the satisfaction of making a fuss or crying out.

She speaks when it's all over and she wants a drink. "What happened to us?"

He stops on his way to the door. "Do you want the truth? Or do you want me to comfort you?" He asks; and he knows she can't take the truth. Her delusions and memories are what keep her sane. He pities her sometimes; the young woman who used to have morals and a purpose. And then she became involved with him. She would thank him when it was done; his project. She was lucky to be along for the ride. She is one of his Chosen; a decision he did not make lightly.

She stiffly gets off the table to follow him; worn joints popping and protesting. In that moment she feels as if every decision she's made in the past eight years was a bad one. But she knew she was the only person to blame for her situation. The fault all lies with her. Still, she wants to sit down and cry. She misses Brett and Chris during moments like these. She used to be able to tell them anything and they'd help however they could. Even if they didn't know what to do.

She wants to be comforted; to be told her decisions were right, that she believed what he told her, that she wanted this life. That everything would be okay because he loved her.

She _needs_ him to lie. Her pride won't allow her to break down in front of him. Even years later, she won't let him see the broken woman hiding behind the wall of sarcasm and a false confidence and grace that she learned from him.

She walks past him and out of the lab. She's going to go home and have a few strong drinks. "Don't you know the answer to that by now?" The dead voice she speaks with is not her own.

* * *

She sits in her favorite overstuffed chair in their living room. There's a two-liter bottle of Coke on the floor within reach, next to it, a bottle of Southern Comfort. A highball glass is in her hand with a little red straw. She's a casual drinker despite how it looks now. The liquor dulls her pain; emotional and physical. Her vision swims when she turns her head toward the door as it opens. Wesker didn't follow her back right away. Later, she'd wonder why. She couldn't be bothered right now.

He enters the townhome and doesn't say a thing about her self-destructive behavior. Because she says nothing to him about what she calls 'his obsession'. He puts his briefcase on the kitchen table, takes his coat off and hangs it over a chair. He slowly enters the living room; his stride doesn't falter until he stops before her and kneels down to meet her eyes.

"How long are you planning to do this?" He asks her, removing his sunglasses and placing them in his jacket pocket. She gives him an insincere smile. Her eyes are hard and cold. "Until everything stops hurting." She replies, finishing off what was left in her glass. He's going to do one of two things; leave her to her pity party…or start lying. They know how it goes by now.

Gloveless hands cup her face, thumbing away moist tear tracks on her cheeks. He leans forward on his knees, tilting her head up and resting his forehead against hers; his unnatural eyes burning into hers. One of his thumbs slides over her lower lip; and his left hand trails down her jaw and neck. She swallows thickly and blinks away more tears. She wants to tell him to stop; to get the fuck away from her because he doesn't mean any of it.

But he's such a good liar.

The hand remaining at her face moves away and takes the empty glass from her; dropping it on the carpeted floor and his hands come down to rest on her hips. He dips his head and presses his lips to her neck. Her breath hitches in her throat as he moves lower, nuzzling the space between her neck and shoulder with his nose before pressing more kisses along her heated skin. He can still smell blood and gunpowder on her. He'd be lying to himself if he said it didn't turn him on.

His hands seek out more skin, slipping under her jacket (to find she wasn't wearing anything under it) and she pinches her eyes shut as her common sense and desire to be comforted wage a war inside her head. She bites her lip to discourage a whimper and her hands shake. He'll win her over like he always does. And they both know it.

He knows _exactly_ how to break her. And it's so easy after all these years. His hands, lips and teeth are purposefully gentle. "I'm sorry, dear heart. I'm so sorry." His voice loses it's carefully measured neutrality; it's tight and strained and he actually sounds remorseful. They both know it's not genuine. But it sounds so and she wants nothing more than to believe it.

So she does.

She makes a choked noise before she speaks; trying so hard to keep from dissolving into tears. "Fix this." She demands, and he knows exactly what that means. "Because I can't."

Her hands find the lapels of his jacket and they clench tightly, as if it were the only thing to keep her from going under. "I can do that. Whatever you want." He agrees; and it just feels so good to hear it. And she tells herself this is all genuine. It's all real. Because that's the only thing that helps.

He's careful of her wounds when he takes a hold of her hips and pulls her toward the edge of the chair. His fingers slip under the thin material of her yoga pants and they tug. Her vision swims again as she sits up enough for him to pull them off and drops back on the chair without a sound. She's not wearing anything under those either; not bothering due to exhaustion and lack of need when she changed out of her bloody clothes.

She doubts the situation for a second; thinking it's better if things don't progress. But she doesn't act on it because she can't. He reaches up and unzips her jacket halfway; revealing pale skin marked with scars. His mouth descends lower; leaving his own mark over each scar. The only sounds filling the room are the sounds of their breathing, the soft smack his lips make as he kisses her skin and the low hum of the heat rushing through the vents in the walls.

The zipper's teeth release, sounding louder than they should, when he unzips the jacket entirely; revealing more pale skin, stitches and another tattoo. The serpent he liked so much. He moves down even lower to trace the black lines of the snake with his tongue. She shivers as he exhales through his nose and it ghosts over the bite on her side. When he's finished with the snake, he sets his hands on her knees and spreads them enough so his body fits between them.

She almost yelps and her vision swims again as she drops her head against the back of the chair and her hips jerk away from the shock of his tongue slipping inside her folds. His hands on her thighs keep her from pulling away from him and she gives a few hard breaths before getting over the shock as his tongue keeps working. Her fingers grip the arms of the chair and a few minutes into things; she gives a shaky moan and the muscles in her thighs and stomach relax. She melts into him like she always does.

He's good at everything he does and this is no exception. It takes him minutes to break her silence; she moans when he closes his lips around her clit and growls softly. He uses his teeth and tongue and she shivers as she arches her back and her toes curl.

In her shaky voice, she tells him to stop; twice. When he does, he doesn't ask why, because he knows. His grip on her thighs loosens and he presses a trail of kisses along the center of her torso, chest and throat before leaning back to peer down at her. She shudders with every exhale and her eyes are still closed.

It reminds him of the first time he had her; before he corrupted her. When she was still Alpha Team's rebellious little sister. She hadn't needed to tell him she was nervous, he could see it. She was shy and inexperienced and he'd had fun with that. She blushed and turned her head so he couldn't see it when he pressed his fingers inside her. The first time he made her come she cried out; the sound she made was more surprised than anything else. He'd bluntly asked her if she'd been with a man before and she actually smiled and told him no, but that there'd been women in the past. In college. He smirked and chuckled. Told her he'd make sure she'd never forget what he did to her; and he knows she never will. Knows she still thinks about it now.

He straightens up and leans in; kissing her lips once and then, he leans further in; to whisper in her ear: "I haven't fixed it yet." His voice takes on a low timbre; a tone he knows makes her ache for him. His hands slide up her belly and one rests in the middle of her stomach while the other cups her left breast; thump gently teasing her nipple in a circular motion. She moans softly, wrapping her arms around his neck and she jumps when the hand at her stomach dips back between her thighs and his fingers rub her clit slowly. Teasing. She whines and thrusts her hips against his hand.

He considers taking her on the floor; but doesn't want it to seem as though he's just doing this for himself; that he's too impatient to take her upstairs. He teases her for a minute or so before pulling away and rising to his feet; offering her a hand. "Come to bed, dear heart." She comes back to herself and stands on slightly unsteady legs; ignoring the clothes and drinks on the floor and letting him take her upstairs.

* * *

He's striped his clothes completely and left them in a pile in the bedroom doorway. She's in bed, having lost her jacket and he's approaching slowly; letting her watch him. She licks her lips as his muscles ripple when he gets on the bed and moves over her. No matter what he was now; he was still attractive. A pretty wolf, but a wolf nonetheless. Their lips meet in a kiss and he slides a knee between her legs. She spreads and he settles between them; running a hand along her left thigh and teasingly rocking his hips against hers; his cock rubbing against her clit and drawing a gasp from her.

He was painfully hard and knew it wouldn't be long before he was inside her; listening to her whisper his name and beg for release. He really didn't mind when he had to _'apologize'_. Wesker dipped his head, cupped her breast and drew her nipple between his lips; carefully closing his teeth around it and tugging gently. She always liked that. She moaned softly and one of her hands carded through his hair, pulling a bit. He purred against her skin and moved to her right breast; giving it the same attention. He spent a short time on her breasts, judging by her moaning and writhing and whispered: "Please Al; please, please." He knew she was done with foreplay. He didn't need to guide himself; simply angled his hips and slowly pressed forward. She gasped, clutching his shoulders and throwing her head back; her body arching up into him, pressing as close as she could. She was tense though; her muscles quivered and he knew she was uncomfortable. He felt a bit annoyed; but reminded himself she was stressed and upset and if he wanted things to be peaceful (and if either of them wanted to get off) he needed to be patient.

Pressing the length of his body over hers, he kissed her forehead, nose and lips; reaching up with one hand and cradling her head as she met him for each kiss. "Trust me. Let me make it better." He kept that low voice she liked and kissed her again.

She wanted so badly to trust him. And she'd tell herself she could.

She was still trembling, but she managed to relax with each kiss he pressed to her throat and chest and with each caress of his hands. "That's my girl." He praises her, reminiscent of how he used to years ago. It almost sickens her to hear it. Almost. She chokes on her memories.

"You're –_Ah_!- such a bastard." She moans as he moves inside her; it feels so good and she wants to hate herself for thinking it. He chuckles, dark and low and predatory against her neck. A shiver wracks her body. "And you love it," He speaks truth, his voice much lower; almost a growl. It fit him so well. She loved it, god help her; she did. She loved everything about him.

Her legs tangle with his and she drops her head back with a pleased moan as a particularly well angled thrust sends her reeling; blurry vision and all. She gives in. It's easier than fighting. She submits; as she always does. As she always had. As he knew she always would. She feels him smile against her skin.

He doesn't say anything to acknowledge her predictable behavior. He'll spare her feelings that much. Because, in his own fucked up way; he does care. He'd never admit it though. He reaches up, licks the tips of his fingers and slides his hand between them; rubbing her clit just right. His smile grows when she pulls in a breathless gasp and her fingernails cut into his skin.

She arches into him, feet slipping some in the sheets and she groans; low and primal. _Needy_.

"If you stop, I'll break your neck." She threatens through clenched teeth (trying to maintain her false persona) neck barred in submission; but making it known she didn't completely yield. And she never would; they both knew she was too proud for that. He thrusts harder in response; making sure to keep that angle that left her breathless. "And I'd let you." He replies, amused, though a tad winded himself. He'd be fine, she'd done worse in the past when things got too real for her.

"But not now. Not while I'm inside you." He states roughly, lifting his head to watch her bite her lower lip and close her eyes. He dips his head a fraction and kisses her, sucking her lower lip and tasting blood on his tongue. She whimpers when he shudders and growls again. That sound turns her on and frightens her at the same time. His hips snap into hers faster and he exhales hard through his nose when he breaks the kiss.

She knows there's a word for what's wrong with them. Both of them. That there are reasons. But it doesn't really matter. The damage has been done. She's bound to him and has been for years. Because he's like a drug she can't quit. So she doesn't try anymore.

She opens her eyes and he's still watching her. She reaches up; fingers tangling in his hair, and kisses him because she needs it. Something that doesn't feel manipulative or domineering.

"Lie to me." She requests, and this time; the voice she speaks with is hers. Not masked with anger or threats or sarcasm. It's broken and genuine. And vulnerable. And he doesn't laugh or smirk. He's still thrusting and she's still writhing; but he kisses her once, twice, three times and whispers: "I love you."

This works for them.

* * *

In the morning, she looks at herself in the bathroom mirror. Bruises, bites, hickies. Scars.

And she smiles.

She gets dressed, goes downstairs and sits at the kitchen table. Wesker looks up from his phone and slides the kettle towards her. "Feeling better?" He asks, and he sounds like himself again. He meets her eyes. She smiles again. "Yeah."

He smirks. "Good. Glad to help."

She's a good liar too.

_"The rapture you seek is down below and it has been denied. You've been suffering, bound to him forever. We'll have your release here and when we go, we'll take His name. Oh, don't you know? If you come down, down, down I know a little sin to which we can aspire."_ - Blaqk Audio "Faith Healer"

* * *

_Author's Note: Taking a risk posting this here; but I didn't want anyone who doesn't follow my AO3 account to miss it, just in case. I wrote this last month and was too worried about it's quality to post it until sadlittletiger encouraged me to. So hopefully someone likes it. Thank you for reading!_


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